The paparazzo near the fire hydrant jumped like a scalded cat, fumbling his expensive camera. He whirled around to find a girl in a baseball cap pulled low and a medical mask covering most of her face. She held a camera too.
"Whoa! You with the Post? Or TMZ?" he hissed, instinctively protective of his prime spot.
The girl grinned, her eyes crinkling above the mask. "Freelance, buddy. Scooch over? Need some cover!"
Female paparazzi were rare; usually, it was obsessive fans. He didn't care, but territory was territory. "Nope. Find your own hydrant."
The girl crouched beside him, peering towards 'Sweet Serenade'. "Hey, was that *you* who got those killer shots at StarGlow yesterday? Man, I regret bailing early!"
The pap's eyes narrowed. "You were there too? What's Liana playing at? Hiring multiple shooters?" His exclusivity bonus just evaporated.
The girl shrugged, her voice muffled but conspiratorial. "Cash is cash, right? What's she paying you for tonight?"
Irritation flared. "Five grand." *Plus the syndication goldmine,* he added mentally.
Her eyes widened slightly above the mask. "Oh."
That dismissive 'oh' stung. "What's that supposed to mean? How much'd she promise *you*?"
She chuckled, low and knowing. "Let's just say… significantly more. You must not be her favorite."
"What?!" Indignation surged. "She said that?" Just then, headlights swept the street. A sleek black SUV pulled up – Liana Hartley's ride. The paparazzo, ego bruised and furious, shoved himself up. "We'll see about that!" He stormed towards the emerging starlet, abandoning his cover entirely.
Molly Lin watched him go, a satisfied glint in her eyes. *Operation Dogwhistle: Phase One Complete.* She pulled out her phone.
> **[Molly to Ethan]: Front entrance. NOW. You're gonna wanna see this.]**
---
Liana Hartley stepped gracefully from the SUV, her stylist's dream of a white dress shimmering under the streetlights. She glanced around the quiet, upscale block. Perfect. Ethan had clearly secured privacy. A pleased smile touched her lips. *Back on top.*
She began her practiced walk towards the bistro entrance – head held high, a gentle breeze artfully tousling her hair. *Perfect angle for the shot,* she thought, trusting her pap was capturing every frame.
Suddenly, a man in a baseball cap and carrying a pro camera blocked her path. "Ms. Hartley! Care to explain why I'm getting peanuts while another shooter gets the big bucks?!"
Liana recoiled, her facade cracking. "Who are you? Security!" she hissed, scanning for Ethan's driver.
"I'm the guy you hired! For three lousy grand! While your *other* photographer gets ten!" He jabbed a finger back towards the hydrant. "She's right over— Huh?" The spot was empty.
Before Liana could formulate a denial, her gaze snagged on a tall, imposing figure standing just outside the restaurant's entrance. Ethan Shaw. His expression was glacial, his posture radiating displeasure even from twenty feet away. The obsidian beads at his wrist seemed to absorb the ambient light, turning cold.
Panic shot through Liana. She shot the furious pap a venomous glare and scurried towards Ethan, forcing her voice into a breathy, concerned register. "Ethan! Darling! That man… he was harassing me! Asking for directions, I think? So unsettling!"
Ethan didn't move. His cold gaze swept from the retreating paparazzo back to Liana. He'd received Molly's text and stepped out just in time to see Liana deep in conversation with a man whose equipment screamed 'paparazzo'. The man's angry gestures, Liana's frantic whispering… It didn't look like directions.
The silence stretched, thick with accusation. Liana felt the weight of it, her scalp prickling. *He heard something.* Desperation clawed at her. Time for the backup plan: the vulnerable truth bomb.
Her eyes welled up instantly. "Ethan… okay," she whispered, her voice trembling with practiced fragility. "I admit it. I hired him. Just… just the one! I needed some positive press, some buzz for the new project talks next week. I… I used you. I'm so, so sorry." She let a single, perfect tear track down her cheek. "I'm just trying to build my career… you understand?"
Ethan's stony expression flickered. The explanation, wrapped in vulnerability, resonated. He started to speak—
His phone vibrated sharply in his hand. A message from Molly:
> **[Molly]: She's using you to make Cole Sterling jealous! Wake up!]**
*She's still here?* Ethan's head snapped up, scanning the dimly lit street. Nothing. Then, his gaze lifted higher, towards the large oak tree near the entrance. Perched precariously on a sturdy branch, partially hidden by leaves, was a familiar figure. Molly gave him a small, cheeky wave.
Ethan's jaw tightened. He looked back down at his phone.
> **[Ethan]: Molly, that's… unlikely. She just explained. Career move.]**
From her leafy vantage point, Molly rolled her eyes so hard she nearly lost her balance. *Unbelievable.* Liana *was* stunning, she conceded – the picture of delicate, feminine vulnerability in that white dress. Exactly the type to short-circuit Ethan's common sense.
> **[Molly]: Just out for a stroll. Overheard interesting things. Toodles!]**
Ethan frowned.
> **[Ethan]: Where are you going? Stay. Eat.]**
> **[Molly]: Do I look like a third wheel? Got places to be.]**
> **[Ethan]: What places?]**
> **[Molly]: The old townhouse. I know who owns it. Going to ask if he's selling.]**
> **[Ethan]: Wait. I'm coming with you.]**
Liana's carefully crafted Niagara Falls of tears were now flowing freely, but Ethan was engrossed in his phone, his expression shifting between confusion and determination. Desperate for attention, she leaned closer, trying to glimpse the screen. The contact name made her blink: **SerialWife**.
*What kind of name is that?* She sniffled loudly, deploying her most plaintive 'baby voice'. "Ethan? Sweetheart?"
Ethan finally looked up, his focus snapping back to her. "Right. Listen, something urgent came up. Rain check." His tone was final, devoid of its earlier softening.
Liana's eyes widened. Her voice slipped, losing its sugary pitch entirely. "*What?!* Again?!"
Ethan's brow furrowed at the sharp tone.
Liana hastily dialed the sweetness back to eleven. "I-I mean… Ethan, darling, you haven't eaten! It's terrible for your digestion!" She laid a concerned hand on his arm.
Ethan offered a brief, distracted smile, misinterpreting her sudden concern as genuine. "Don't worry about me. Go ahead and eat if you're hungry." He gently but firmly disengaged her hand. "I have to go."
Without another word, Ethan Shaw, the 'Wall Street Recluse', turned on his heel and strode purposefully towards his waiting car, leaving Liana Hartley standing alone on the sidewalk under the soft glow of the bistro lights, her perfect tear-stained facade crumbling into bewildered shock. The paparazzo, forgotten near the curb, gaped. The guy who'd supposedly been head-over-heels for Liana Hartley just… walked away? *Mid-date?* Had the infamous 'Recluse' taken some kind of… *celibacy vow*?